Regrets? I've Had a Few
by CreedsGalBirdy
Summary: Sabretooth/Birdy -- Vic asks Birdy a very simple question and gets a very simple answer.


Regrets? I've Had a Few  
by 1Grrl4Vic  
  
  
Author's Notes: This story was rattling around for a while and it's been finished for just as long. Sorry I didn't post it earlier. It's just one of those 'moments' you see in your head and I tried to build around it. Let me know how successful you think I was with my endeavor.  
  
Disclaimer: Sabretooth and Birdy belong to Marvel comics.   
  
  
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A black convertible sat off to the side of the winding mountain road looking down on the large, multimillion dollar estate of one, Theodore Harnsby. It was just creeping past five in the morning when a soft glow of light could be seen coming from the Mediterranean-style mansion. And although it was still quite dark out and the black convertible was quite a way aways, one of the car's occupants could see the going's-on's of the L.A. mansion very clearly.  
  
  
"Looks like Sleeping Beauty's awake," Birdy informed her employer, Mister Victor Creed, more commonly known as the feral mutant killer, Sabretooth. Birdy adjusted her night-vision binoculars, zooming in on her target's position. "And it also looks like pretty boy Teddy will be going with a traditionally white, ay-kay-ay virginal, outfit by... hmmm...." Birdy squinted behind the rim of the goggles. "Versace!" she squeaked, pleased with herself and her ability to spot a designer at roughly 700 yards. Clicking a small lever on the side of the binoculars, increasing the focus, Birdy was able to see further into Mister Harnsby's walk-in wardrobe. "Ugh. Bikinis. Gross."  
  
  
Victor Creed merely grunted, his eyes still closed, resting (though in all honesty, he was always ready for a job) for the day ahead. A day that had just begun now that his current and soon-to-be victim had been sighted. Victor's methods usually consisted of "slash and trash" but the brokenhearted fella signing this paycheck asked that nothing in or around the home be broken, chipped, torn or... splattered on. That meant a "seek, follow and destroy" method was to be employed for this particular hit.  
  
Creed shifted slightly, trying to stretch his legs or at least reposition them as well as he could reclined in the back-seat of the old Cadillac convertible. Victor's back was to the hillside below, trusting his sidekick, Birdy, to keep him posted on events.  
  
  
"Yeeeech! I'm *not* watching that," she quietly exclaimed with disgust, lowering the heavy binoculars into her lap. Birdy was seated facing the house, stretched across the benchseat in a similar fashion as her boss, only in an opposite direction. And she did not want for the extra leg room.  
  
"Hey, Boss?" she asked. When no reply, neither words nor grunts were forthcoming, Birdy tapped the large hand resting on the back of the front seat. "Boss.." she said with more urgency. A sleepy, drawled "What?" was then given.  
  
Birdy leaned forward a bit and spoke in a conspiratorial tone (even though she was conspiring to commit murder here, this tone was more hushed). "We headin' home after this job or.. ya know, we stickin' around? It *is* L.A. after all."  
  
"Home," was grunted out, sounding a bit annoyed.  
  
"'kay. gotcha."  
  
"Had 'nuff of these prissy L.A. types. 'Bout ta drive me nuts." Birdy only nodded at this and resumed her position in the front seat. She wanted to stay in California a little longer, having never been. But when the boss said it was time to go, it was time to go. No argument. Her quiet sigh didn't escape Creed's notice.   
  
Creed's hand, which had been resting on the back of the front seat, slipped down to tap the top of Birdy's naked foot. She'd removed her slinky boots earlier, setting them on the floorboard. Birdy wiggled her toes and moved her foot back and forth, a silent request for Victor to move his hand. Not one to be told what to do, in words, gestures or otherwise, Victor took hold of Birdy's big toe and gave a gentle squeeze. "Stop squirmin'."  
  
"Let go of my toe, please." Victor hrmph-ed but complied, letting his hand continue to dangle near Birdy's foot.  
  
Minutes crawled by with Birdy occasionally hefting the binoculars up to look in on their query, noting with some small disappointment he wasn't ready to leave the house yet. It was when Birdy had her eyes trained on the house when she felt something move along the bottom of her foot. She pulled the glasses down just a bit, looking over them at her feet. "You're touching my foot again," she felt so inclined to tell her boss... in case he hadn't noticed.  
  
Ignoring Birdy's observation, Creed continued to move his hand up and down the sole of Birdy's bare foot. Her leg twitched, the sign of an approaching tickle sensation, and she jerked her leg away from Creed's hand. Smiling she told him sternly, "I'm ticklish so don't touch me there."  
  
Eyes still closed but with one eyebrow raised Creed said, "Oh yeah? Don't be tellin' me no secrets like that, girl. An' don't be tellin' me I can't touch what's rightly mine, neither." Not trusting Creed, although his tone was light, Birdy let her foot back to it's previous resting place, keeping a wary eye on his hand.  
  
Creed calmly exhaled, enjoying the crisp, mountain air. "Hey, Birdy?"  
  
"Yeah, Boss?" She fiddled with the various components of the binoculars.  
  
The question came to him out of left field and his curiosity was really getting to him. He took the direct approach. "Ya ever regret takin' that hit on me?" he asked, even though he was fairly certain he knew the answer.   
  
Birdy stopped. If she hadn't been sitting, she might've fallen over. Her pulse was loud in her ears and she didn't know if she wanted to cry or tell him to fuck off. Of course she regretted it. She regretted every minute of everyday she was with him. But really, she couldn't say that because she didn't. Not entirely. She pulled in a shaky breath and looked out into the early morning sky. "I dunno, Boss," she finally said.  
  
"Whattya mean? Ya do or ya don't. S'simple as that." He couldn't understand why she had such mixed emotions about such a simple question.  
  
"I guess it just depends," she said with a shrug. "I mean, some days you're a real asshole. Well... most days you're an asshole." She looked up from where her hands were in her lap, to see a small smile on his face as she said this.   
  
"But some days you can be okay to deal with. Your own creepy version of 'normal'." Her eyes fell away from his face, pointedly not looking at him.... anywhere but at him. "I don't see why it matters," she stated softly. "It's not like I can just leave whenever I want to." Another shrug and she lifted the binoculars up, accounting for the target's position.  
  
"Shit! He's movin'!" Birdy swore, throwing the goggles to the floor and reaching for her boots.  
  
"Got 'im." Sabretooth said nonchalantly, turning and jumping from the vehicle in one smooth motion. Silently, he raced down the hillside, a shadowy blur in the predawn. Harnsby's white Jaguar was no match for Sabretooth, even if he had seen him coming. The screech of claw against metal tore through the morning air, the broken glass of the rear windshield tinkling to the pavement.  
  
Birdy, still sitting in the front seat of the Caddy, heard the scream, which only lasted a second, and visibly relaxed. Barefoot, she started the car and navigated down the winding road to the home's front gate to meet up with her employer.  
  
When she reached the driveway, she pulled on her boots and hopped from the car to see the damage. Sabretooth stood near the twisted Jag, hands on his hips, obviously pleased with his handy work.  
  
Birdy peeked in through the driver's side window. "Well, it's a good thing the interior was red leather, 'ey Boss?" Creed had ripped through the back windshield of the car, reaching forward with his claws to tear out the pretty boy's neck which twisted his head backward and left a heavy spray of crimson on the dashboard and windshield.  
  
"The Buyer didn't say nothin' about the car... just said not ta get the house messy, right? Right." Sabretooth walked to the Caddy, opening the trunk to find several towels waiting for him. Wiping his hands off, he tossed the towel back into the trunk, closing it with a thunk. "All right, girl. Let's get," he called to Birdy as he got into the passenger seat of the car. Birdy was still looking in on what remained of Teddy, admiring her boss's technique.  
  
"Comin'," she said absently as she straightened up and headed back to the car.  
  
  
  
  
The drive back through L.A. was quiet save for the sounds of a city waking. Birdy tried to absorb as many sites as she could, knowing they weren't going to stay and enjoy what the city had to offer it's visitors. While sitting at a street light, she sighed wistfully. Maybe some other time, she thought to herself.  
  
"If yer gonna pout, I'd rather ya find us a nice hotel ta do it in. Last thing I need is you mopin' around when we get back to Seattle." Creed was relaxing, trying to let the smooth ride lull him into sleep.  
  
"Really, Boss? We can stay a while?"  
  
"Ya got twenty-four hours. Do whatever ya want, but leave me outta it. I ain't gonna trail behind ya while ya go around lookin' like a country mouse, pointin' an' gapin' at everything ya see."  
  
"Oh, Mister Creed!" Birdy squealed. "Thank you! And I promise, I'll leave you alone the whole twenty-four hours," she said solemnly as she pulled into the nearest upscale hotel.   
  
"Not the whole twenty-four," he corrected. "You owe me a roll for this, hear? An' I want it before we leave."  
  
  
  
end 


End file.
